


a breath underwater, i’ve never felt like drowning

by Faetality



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Eichen | Echo House, Endgame Petopher, M/M, Psychological Trauma, Torture, care taking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-26
Updated: 2020-03-29
Packaged: 2020-09-27 05:41:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 10,821
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20402590
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Faetality/pseuds/Faetality
Summary: When Chris learns about Peter’s fate in Eichen he knows he can’t leave the wolf there. Freeing him is only half the battle, it’s healing that takes the longest.





	1. Chapter 1

It was one of those moments that changed everything. Standing in the kitchen of Melissa McCall’s house surrounded by teenagers that should have been studying but instead were talking about their latest near death experience. It was a throwaway comment, slipped into the middle of a much larger conversation but it was a comment that dragged his attention back to the task at hand.  _ “In eichen house like Peter”.  _ But it’s moved on from like it doesn’t matter. Even Stiles, who he  _ knows _ is aware of that place and it’s secrets, manages to pass over it without comment. Chris managed to stick around until the focus shifted to food and he excused himself quietly. He wouldn’t be missed. 

_ Eichen House.  _ It was a name even hunters didn’t throw around so carelessly. Most were hesitant to work with the institution, if a place a step above hell could be called such a mundane term. Even among those who thought as he had used to, that the supernaturals were monsters- dogs and beasts and nothing more- it was a name spoken of in whispers. It was place admired only by those such as his father. As Gerard. Monsters who should never have been allowed so much as a glimpse of the power they had obtained. 

It took two weeks to get the papers in order, phone calls where his anger rose in his throat and threatened to choke him, and calling in favors that he had held for years. When he walked through the doors of Eichen he knew there was no turning back. There was a finality to how the metal doors clanged shut. He couldn’t regret what he was doing. He wouldn’t. He’s led down the halls by three guards, two stone faced giants of men and one chatty man with dark hair and lean build. His name was Renault if Chris had heard him right. He’d remember that later. To be sure of it when there was time for retribution. 

He is led into a place he had only heard rumors of. The lower echelons of the building were the bogey man of the supernatural world’s story.  _ You’d better go to bed before the Echo House takes you away.  _ The reality was worse than the stories. If the creatures-  _ people. Some of them were people-  _ weren’t screaming they were silent. He may have assumed they were dead if not for how their eyes flicked to and from the guards’ faces.  _ Afraid.  _

“Y’know, I’m surprised you’re taking one a’ the mutts, didn’t think the hunters were still testing. I’m not going to complain though. At least it’ll keep this ward quiet again. You wouldn’t believe the noise they make. Even getting rid’a their tongues can’t shut them up.” 

_ Face blank. Don’t get angry. You can’t afford anger.  _ He makes a humming noise that could be agreement. The guard takes it as that. It’s silent until the reach the cell and prisoner he had come for. The guard seems to take great pleasure in stepping harder, baton at his side swinging carelessly. It’s a cruelty so small but among the worst of them. To rob someone of peace even in the quietest hours. To cause fear with nothing but a single footfall. He’s thankful when they stop. For a moment. 

The cell is small, a glass wall gave a view of the entire space. Concrete walls, concrete floor, a mattress with no sheets-  _ can’t strangle themselves-  _ and a single toilet. It’s as bare a place can get but for the scratches that marred the otherwise smooth expanse of gray. Marks that spoke of panic and pain. 

Sitting on the floor in the furthest corner is Peter.  _ Peter.  _ With hair wild and a scruffy beard covering his face. A far cry from the man who prided himself on his appearance, on keeping himself at the top of everything. His eyes are wild but sharp- even as his body shakes, trembles in the face of another living being. Chris doesn’t think he recognizes him. The blue eyes fixed themselves on the guard’s boots and didn’t raise up even as the beat stick tapped the glass. “Come on, wolf, ain’t got nothing to say today? Ah, that’s alright. Now be a good boy and stay right there.” The two silent giants step into the room, Renault steps in last, a syringe pulled from his jacket. He makes it three steps before Peter even moves. But it’s not a dash for the door, it’s further back. As though he might could blend into the cold concrete and escape whatever was coming. But there was no fight. Just quick breaths that were too loud in the small cell and then even those were evened out into silence. Guard 1 snapped cuffs onto Peter’s wrists and pulled the wolf to his feet. He wasn’t unconscious but he  _ was  _ weak. Compliant. Stumbling forward until he was grabbed by the back of his shirt- a thin thing that threatened to tear with the action. The collar cutting into his throat. 

“You’re parked around back, yeah?” 

“Yeah.” 

He wants to take the wolf from their hands, put himself between them and this shadow of the proud man he knew. They weren’t close in the end but this… this was too much. No one deserved this. Instead he digs his nails into his own palm and let’s them lead him out back into the old courtyard. “You want it in the trunk?” 

“Backseat is fine, he’s not going to be able to do anything anyway so might as well have him where I can keep an eye on him, right?” The guard just shrugs and shoves Peter into the back. There’s a thud where his head knocks against the top. “I think that’s good.” 

“Whatever you say. Have a good night, man.” 

He drives out the gate and  _ finally _ looks back at the wolf in his backseat. Somehow he looks  _ worse _ in the streetlights than in the cell. Paler. Thinner. Gaunt and haunted.  _ Broken.  _ His eyes are open but distant and Chris knows he’s not seeing anything. So Chris stops looking. 

His house is near the edge of town. It’s a rental, nice but not over the top, two bedrooms, a living room, bath, kitchen, and a basement. It’s all he needed. Hell. It was more than he had needed. Now he’s grateful for that bit of extra space. 

Peter is still drugged to the gills, barely making it up the steps even with Chris’ hands guiding him. Chris knows the wolf may be beyond saving. May be feral once the drugs wear off. May not be any better than he was after the coma. May be worse; but at least he would be free. A humane death. A single bullet between the eyes rather than a thousand cuts and shocks until even his healing couldn’t bring him back. 

“Come on, there you are.” The wolf freezes when they enter the guest room, with its pale blue walls and queen sized bed. There’s a nightstand and rug, a wardrobe and vanity atop it. It’s sparse but a far cry from where they had left. He pushes gently at the small of Peter’s back, attempts to be gentle in both action and voice. It isn’t something he’s had much practice with but he tries. He hopes it’s enough. “Lay down; sleep.” 

He turns his back on the man, instincts screaming not to even as he strides to the window and checks the mountain ash lines. He didn’t need Peter running around town. He looks back to find the wolf curled into a tight ball in the center of the bed, eyes half lidded. The handcuffs are still on- they can’t be comfortable but Chris can’t remove them. Not yet. Not until he knows if it’s safe. He leaves the room, the door cracked just enough to let the light from the living room spill over the floor, maybe it was enough to keep the horrors of the dark at bay, and he takes residence in an armchair. The first part was done. The second part- the  _ hard part _ \- well... It was only beginning. 


	2. Chapter 2

He’s halfway through his first cup of coffee when it happens. The crack of wood and breaking of glass, a sharp but short cry that is half pain and half apology. He abandons the mug and barely thinks enough to grab his baton, he doesn’t want the gun. He doesn’t want to _need the_ gun. But even weak and cuffed using magic he knew the wolf could hurt him. Kill him. He throws the door wide and it bangs against the wall hard enough he makes a background note to check the paint. More pressingly is the shattered bedside table and lamp strewn over the carpet and the wild creature in the midst of the wreckage. Peter is shaking still, curled small, and there are blood specks over his arms and back from where Chris assumes he had fallen backwards into the table. His head is down. Chris steps closer. 

“Peter?” 

“Don’t.” He freezes. The wolf’s voice is broken, like his vocal cords had been replaced with shattered glass, a thousand shards tearing his throat to pieces. And still, it’s small. Not childlike- no it was far too shredded for such a comparison- but like a wounded animal. 

“Peter, it’s okay.” 

“No. Nononono-_ no you’re_ not real. You aren’t real. This isn’t real.” He curls tighter, shoves his hands down directly atop the broken glass until the skin split. “You aren’t Chris. You’re not. _ You’re not _ ** _real.” _ **It’s as though he expected the words to bring comfort, the pain to ground him and bring this vision to an end. 

“Your name is Peter Andrew Hale. You had three siblings. You went to Berkeley university. Your senior year you went to a party at Mary Miller’s house and you kissed Oliver Cleary in a game of spin the bottle. You asked me if I wanted to go next. I said no. You said I was lying.” The more he speaks the more Peter stops. Stops shaking. Stops talking. Stops making those tiny whimpering sounds from the back of his throat. “Peter, I am Christopher Argent. I am real. I broke you out of Eichen House” _ another whimper _“last night. You are safe. You are never going back there. You’re safe. Do you understand me? You’re safe.” 

“Safe.” Blue eyes are wide, glassy still, and wary. As if he cannot believe the word that his mouth has formed. 

“Peter, I’m going to come closer now. I’m going to take those cuffs off but only if you’re not going to attack me. Okay?” 

A tiny nod but his hands don’t move. Chris pulls the key from his pocket with slow, smooth movements. “Can I see your hands?” It makes something inside him burn at how he’s speaking. Like talking to a child, with the same low lilt and patience he had reserved only for Allison and Kate when they had been young. “There you are.” He strokes his fingers until they uncurl. The skin is cool. Too cool for a wolf. Too cool for a human. He turns and holds and pulls the bigger splinters and shards from the marble skin. 

He doesn’t want them to heal over, cutting Peter back open to remove the pieces would be more traumatic than helpful. When he believes he has all he can pull without better lighting and a kit. “Okay, all done. I’m going to take the cuffs off.” He pauses after the first, waits for any sign of danger and when none shows he removes the second. “You must be hungry?” A shrug. “Come on, I want to get some food in you and run a bath. Can you stand up for me?” Another tiny shrug. Chris takes Peter’s hands in his own, pulls gently until he’s on his feet. Holds him steady as he sways. 

It’s only fourteen steps to the kitchen table. It takes three minutes to get there. When he maneuvers Peter into the chair the wolf clings to his arm. Clings hard enough that even weak as he is Chris feels the bones grind. “You need to let go, I’m not going anywhere, just going to get some food.” 

It’s nothing special, he puts the toast in the toaster and pours a plastic cup of water half full. “Little sips.” He pretends he doesn’t watch the way Peter’s hand shakes around the semi-translucent plastic cup. He tries not to show that he’s watching as Peter takes first one sip, then another. Peter had been watched enough. Then the toaster popped. It was hell all over again. The wolf jerked, spilling water her his hands and the table before the cup clattered uselessly against the linoleum. The chair he was in squealed as it scraped over the cheap floors and Peter curled in on himself as though expecting a blow. Chris bites his tongue to hold back a curse, resists the urge to drag his hand over his face and compose himself before he loses the battle not to show his emotions. 

“It’s okay, it’s okay. Just the toaster. Breathe.” He doesn’t touch, pulls the towel from the stone and crouches to wipe the spill. “Peter... it’s okay.” He reaches up in a moment and places two fingers on his leg. “I’m sorry, I didn’t think. It’s okay.” He feels stupid. Such a small thing. Only when Peter pulled his head up does Chris stand. He butters the toast lightly, afraid to upset the wolf’s stomach with too much too fast, and puts the two pieces down on a napkin in front of the man. Peter stares at it. 

“Just eat what you can, a few bites, that’s all I’m asking.” He refills the cup with water, less than the first time so the wolf wouldn’t feel too pressured to drink it all. Another half minute passes by with no movement. _ Let him take his time. Just breathe Argent. _A full minute passes. 

Peter’s eyes flick from him to the empty chair at the table. Slowly he sits; the wolf reaches for the toast. Chris let’s himself exhale. 

The man tears himself small pieces, raises it to his lips and hesitates as though expecting the other shoe to fall and everything to be taken back. After the third bite he seems to realize that nothing was going to be snatched from him and the hesitation disappears though the pace stays almost the same. He starts picking the second apart before his eyes flash to Chris and the napkin is pushed toward him, like a child’s offering. 

“No thank you.” 

Nothing but another nudge of the toast in his direction. Chris pulls it the rest of the way over and tears it in half before pushing it back. It seems to satisfy the wolf. They finish the meager meal in silence. When he wipes the table off and throws the napkin away Peter keeps hands and eyes on his lap. “Do you want to take a shower?” A quickening of breath, panicked eyes. “Hey, hey. Shhh. I’m not going to make you, Peter.” It was something he had learned not from his father or any of his associates, but from a woman who ran a small room and board for troubled youth. He’d spent a summer there once, a hunt he was punished with. It hadn’t been so bad as Gerard had wanted. _ Use their name, ground them, let them know they’re real. _“No showers. How about a bath? You can say no, it’s not a trick question.” He calms. Gives a slow shake of his head. 

“Okay. What do you want to do?” Eyes flicker back to the bedroom. “You can go back to sleep or just sit for a while, if that’s what you want?” A nod. 

“Just let me clean up the bedside table, while you finish your water.” There wasn’t much left to finish but it would give Chris time to sweep. He didn’t need more blood to clean up or for Peter to hurt himself further. He’s dropping the last pieces into a trash bag when he feels himself being watched. Peter stands in the doorway. “Okay, I’ll be in the living room if you need me.” 

He grabs his laptop from the small office down the hall and sits to start sending emails. There was no one he could tell about Peter. No one to call for help who he could trust, certainly no one _ Peter _would trust. Each question had to be theoretical, a vague statement, research for a friend of a friend. Each word carefully chosen so as not to give himself away. 

_ I have a question regarding PTSD in cases where the subject was in a clinical setting undergoing torture both physically and psychologically… _

_ I’ve got a contact in Nevada who needs information on wolves separated from their pack but who have bonds elsewhere. If you know anything of the like get back to me, it’s a time-sensitive matter. _

_ Andrew, can we meet next week to form a nutritional plan for an associate of mine? They’re severely malnourished and I need an expert opinion. _

_ Argent Arms would like to apologize for any inconvenience, beginning on the seventeenth we will not be accepting any new deals as we are taking a personal break for a family emergency. Our contact and liaison division will still be running but no deals will be done through us. _

_ We will resume all functions at a later date. _

_ Thank you. _

It would be easiest to call Derek. A wolf with knowledge of trauma, who knew Peter, who Peter might know. But he couldn’t. Even if he knew where the man was there was no guarantee that Derek wasn’t aware of his uncle’s fate. There was no guarantee that calling Derek or even Cora wouldn’t make everything worse. The clock rolls over to eleven and He stands to check on Peter. 

The wolf is not in the bed. Chris treads lightly around the end of the bed and stops at the corner. Curled beneath a blanket with a second tucked beneath his head is Peter. His back is against the wall, knees tucked close to his chest and breathing even. He’s sleeping, it’s a good thing. Chris focuses on that. Sleep was good. It was less than a day, this was a small detail and something to work out later. He checks the mountain ash lines and, when satisfied they were perfectly intact, goes to shower. Peter wasn’t the only one in need of such things. 


	3. Chapter 3

Lunch was a small thing, Peter slept through it and Chris wasn’t about to wake him. A few emails came through along with a voice mail from the Sheriff about having him look at a case to determine if it was supernatural or simply the wildlife. It’s nothing he couldn’t do from home. He calls John back. 

“Sheriff Stilinski.” 

“Hey Sheriff, it’s Argent. How’s it going?” 

“Busy as usual but nothing us elected officials can’t handle. I wanted to get your opinion on a few files, I’m thinking they’re regular animal attacks but I want a second opinion before I start putting men out there with traps.” There’s shuffling of papers in the background. “Can you come down to the station?”

“Not today but I can come in later this week, maybe Thursday. Or if you can get Parrish to bring the files over today I can get them back to you by Wednesday.” He didn’t want to leave the house yet, nor take visitors but life didn’t stop for anyone. 

“I can have Parrish drop them off around four.” 

“That sounds good.”

“Thanks, Argent.” 

“Any time Sheriff.” 

Little happens between the phone call and when Parrish arrives. He sits, reads, researches, and waits. Peter doesn’t stir and nothing exciting happens until there’s a knock on the door. He pulls back the blinds, takes in the uniform and when the deputy turns he’s relieved. “Parrish.” He doesn’t invite him inside but steps out into the porch. “You brought the files?”

“Yeah, Sheriff has me running errands all month. It’s better than desk duty I guess.” The files are an inch thick. “I have to get back on patrol but just let Stilinski know when you’re done with them.” 

“Will do. Be safe, Parrish.” 

He locks the door behind him, makes it just a few steps before he sees Peter standing in the doorway, half hidden and shoulders curled in on himself. The blanket is clutched around him like a shield. He doesn’t speak but it’s clear enough in his posture  _ who was that, am I going back, are they gone?  _

“It was just a friend giving me some papers.” He holds the file up before setting it atop his computer. “It’s okay.” It is in silence that Peter returns to his room. He sleeps until nightfall, then he sleeps some more. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A short update but an update indeed!


	4. Chapter 4

At two am Chris toasts another slice of bread and sits in silence until Peter finishes it. He wants to hear the wolf speak, anything but the panicked phrases from the morning. He isn’t holding his breath for it. He cleans the kitchen, watches his hands, and pretends he isn’t watching Peter watch him. 

An hour later he’s kneeling on the floor of what he already had started thinking of as Peter’s room, hands hovering uselessly as the wolf retches the meager sustenance into the small bedside trash can. Cautiously he does allow one hand to rest lightly on Peter’s back but doesn’t dare to do more. He speaks all the while, anything to differentiate the now from the then. “It’s okay, it’s my fault. It’s going to take some time before you can handle a lot of food. Just try to breathe, that’s it.” When it’s over Chris urges small sips of water, just enough to keep dehydration at bay but not cause Peter to lose it again. By the end of the ordeal Peter is exhausted again, shaking like a leaf. “Come on, Peter, let's get you back in bed.” Much like before Peter simply makes himself small beneath the blankets. He doesn’t stir while Chris cleans, scrubs the floor and washes the bin out. 

He follows the wolf’s example and passes out on the couch a while later. 

The next three days pass in the same way. Wake early, get Peter to drink and eat a little, work on anything that had come into his email or from the sheriff, and repeat.

He dreams of the past. He dreams of a sharp grin and a flirty smile, of blue eyes filled with mischief and of eyes barely holding back tears. He dreams of a party with too many people and of an offer he should have taken. He dreams of scars that never should have stayed and wounds that never healed. Of a river and quiet revelations. The water running even when the rest of the world was frozen. 

It was still running when he opened his eyes. “Peter?” He bangs his knee into the coffee table and bites back a curse as he runs down the hall. The wolf is in the bathroom, staring into the mirror while the sink ran cold water. “Peter?” He edges forward. It was the first time the man had ventured further than his room or the kitchen table. It was the first time he’d looked into a mirror. Chris wasn’t sure what to expect. His hand brushes the man’s shoulder and he startles. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you.” He doesn’t expect a response and he doesn’t receive one. “How are you feeling?” There’s still the slightest shake in his shoulders and hands, whether it’s weakness or cold or both Chris doesn’t know but he assumes both are at play. “How are you feeling?” 

A shrug, small but clearly meant. It’s progress. Peter is still in the ‘clothes’ that Eichen had provided. Such thin, scratchy things that surely irritated the wolf’s skin and had passed the point of assaulting Chris’ nose when he got close. But he couldn’t force Peter into the shower, that wouldn’t benefit anyone. “Did you want to take a bath? It may make you feel better, I can get you something more comfortable to wear afterwards.” He can’t force the wolf, but he can coax him. 

Fifteen minutes later the tub is full of warm water and Chris has laid sweatpants, a soft v neck, and an old sweatshirt on the counter. Peter is standing to the side picking at the hem of the shirt he had on. “Do you need help?” A slow nod. Chris expected the worst when Peter was stripped of his clothing. He was still unprepared for just what lay beneath the thin shields. He tries not to react but he can’t stifle everything and the hiss of air makes Peter shrink back. 

His torso was a mess of old wounds, bruises that Chris  _ knows  _ should have healed before they even had a chance to form and cuts that left the skin around them red as though constantly irritated by the clothing worn over them. Some were clean and precise, surgical in nature, while others were jagged and cruel. There were scars as well, thick knots of tissue that turned once flawless skin into a patchwork of textures, burns and cuts and some that Chris couldn’t fathom how they had been created. His legs are just as bad if not worse, patterns that ran like lightning up and around his calves and thighs, marks that were clearly made by claws though whether Peter’s own or someone else’s was unknown. Rage burns in his chest, so white hot that it stings his eyes. Chris was no stranger to cruelty. This was too far. 

“Come on, before the water gets cold.” The water was instantly tinted pink, old blood and new tainting the warm water. Chris doesn’t scrub, takes a cup and pours water over what parts of the Wolf hadn’t been submerged and when that no longer helps places a feather light touch to his shoulder and says “I’m going to touch you now, tell me if it hurts.” Using his hand he goes lightly until the water needs refilled. He does so and begins the process over, he scrubs gently around the wounds with soap and lets Peter takes care of his legs. “Tilt your head back for me, I’m gonna wash your hair now.” It’s gotten long, as long as it had been the first time he saw him, back when he had simply- no, never simply- the alpha. It curls at the base of his neck, over his shoulders. He works conditioner through it first, untangling the strands as he goes. “Little further.” Rinse and repeat with the shampoo. It’s an old memory that surfaces;

_ “Daddy!” Allison grinned and splashed water back at him, giggling with soap suds in her hair. “Come on, baby girl you have soap in your hair. Lean back, close your eyes.”  _

He swallows thickly. “Okay, ready to dry off?” 

Nudity had never bothered either man. Peter was raised a wolf and it was simply accepted. Chris had shared tight quarters most of his life. It was no big deal and so when Peter rose and stepped from the tub Chris simply wrapped the bath sheet around his shoulders and stepped away, giving Peter the option of asking for help or not. He doesn’t but his hands shake as he dries. He turns his head and stares when he lifts the pants. 

“Let me help.” When he’s dressed Chris drapes the towel around his neck, he didn’t own a blow dryer anymore, it probably wouldn’t be a good idea anyhow. 

“Are you hungry?” 

A shrug. 

“Do you want to watch tv? I can turn it on and we can figure out lunch later.” He turns on a nature program, something about Alaska’s national parks, the sound is barely there but he’s wary of throwing too much stimulation at the wolf. Peter clutches a pillow in his lap and watches Chris more than the screen. That’s okay. 

He wonders about the healing, more specifically the lack thereof. The drugs should more than left Peter’s bloodstream. He needed the medical records… Peter uncurls and his feet press flat against Chris’ thigh. Peter eyes him warily but relaxes when Chris does nothing but keep watching the tv. Maybe he can convince Melissa to get him the files from Eichen on Peter. If nothing else he could claim he needs them for testing… something must give his thoughts away because Peter makes a small questioning noise. He slowly settles his hand over the wolf’s blanket covered foot, “Just thinking, nothing to worry about.” 

After some time has passed, when Chris’ stomach demands food and Peter seems to be half dozing he eases himself off the couch and takes his laptop into the kitchenette. 

_ Chris, it would be best if I could meet with the patient though I will understand if that isn’t possible. Do you have any restrictions concerning allergies? - Andrew _

_ I’m afraid it won’t be possible for you to meet with him, as for allergies there are none that I am aware of. So far toast is all I’ve managed that he can keep down.  _

_ Can you meet me on Wednesday? I’ll be in town and we can go over the plan.  _

That would give him three days to settle Peter down, to get the wolf comfortable enough that Chris could leave him alone without too much trouble. Hopefully. 

Three days. He looks to where the wolf was still curled beneath the old afghan blanket, a remnant of a time better forgotten. Yeah. It would be fine. 


	5. Chapter 5

The nightmares started Tuesday night. Chris was in the shower when the wall thudded. He shut off the water. Nothing more happened. He pulled on clothes, his shirt held in his hands when again,  _ thud.  _ Then a wounded noise. He rushes out of the bathroom and into Peter’s room. He rounds the bed with its missing comforter and finds the wolf twisted around in the blankets that made his makeshift palet. 

“Peter.” He twists, head knocking the plaster again. Chris inches forward. He places a hand on Peter’s arm. Peter’s nails are long, claws dragging and digging into his own skin. 

“Come on, you’re alright. You’re safe.” It does nothing, blood runs in rivulets down his arms. “Peter!” He shakes him in earnest. When the pricks and dig of claws become gouges and the whimpers turn into wild noises Chris takes a deep breath and draws his hand back. It stings when he strikes the wolf’s cheek. He’s drawing back again when Peter jolts wale, roar tearing from his throat. Chris scrambles back. Stares and is started at in return. They’re both breathing hard, Chris quiet and Peter in heaving gasps. It’s not a look of betrayal but it makes the hunter guilty all the same. 

“_Peter.” _The man is in his lap in half a second. He’s too big for it not to be awkward, even with how thin he had grown and the weight he had lost. His bones dig into Chris’ thighs and his spine was pronounced when Chris laid his hand on the wolf’s back. Still he somehow manages to fold himself down and fit in Chris’ arms. “Easy, _easy_ _Peter_, breathe for me.” He can feel the scrape of fangs against his neck with each puff of air. It’s terrifying, having those fangs so close to one of the most vulnerable parts of him. 

He slides his palm up, feels tension and scars beneath his palm as he does. “You’re safe.” He applies slight pressure and feels Peter relax further into him. He has to shift and lean against the wall to keep them both upright but the wolf doesn’t raise his head. After a while the wolf grows still, and wolf it was, The animal pushing to the forefront of the man, moving on instinct- he grows still. So still Chris wonders if he had fallen asleep once more. He doesn’t dare move, even when the cold of the wall seeps into his skin. Doesn’t dare disturb the being in his lap. Instead he breathes deep. Settles his head atop the wolf’s and attempts to catch his own sleep. 

He wakes with the sun. His back is hurting in that low achy sort of way that made the idea of standing a nightmare and his leg is half asleep from the calf down where Peter’s weight rested on it. Peter has shifted some in the night but for the most part is in the same position. Chris tries to shift subtly and winces with the pulse of pain. He was too old to be sleeping on the floor like this. 

His movement wakes Peter. It’s a long moment before the wolf breathes deep and twitches. He shuffles back, sniffs and keeps himself small as one hand searches for the blanket to pull around him. Chris moves slow, takes in the dried blood on his arms and chest and the small wounds along Peter’s. “How do you feel?” 

Nothing. 

“If you want to wash off I’ll be in the bathroom. Just let me know.” It’s a slow walk to leave the room but by the time he’s standing at the sink he’s regained feeling in his leg. He’s grateful his shirt was still on the counter, as soon as he’s wiped down he pulls it over his head and washes his face. Peter wasn’t the only one in need of a shave but Chris could wait. 

He picks up his phone only to find a new message already waiting for him-

_ Chris, I’m looking forward to seeing you again. - Andrew _

His hands shake and the curse that leaves his lips is soft. “ _ Fuck.”  _ Maybe if he could… he doesn’t know what he could do. Peter was fragile, more so than expected and the meeting was for one. If he can settle the wolf before then perhaps he can make it. Bringing someone into the house seems a horrible idea.  _ Okay Argent, think this through. Peter won’t be okay with bringing someone into the house, not this early. So that is a definite no. Taking Peter out is an exceptionally terrible plan. So that leaves one option.  _

Rescheduling isn’t an option. Peter needed to get food in his stomach and Chris was far from equipped to provide that plan. He simply will have to leave the wolf alone. 

He fills a cup with water and lays out a few snacks he hopes Peter might can eat. There’s no expectation with them, simply a maybe. 

Noon rolls around with no sign of Peter and Chris knocks lightly on the frame of the bedroom. Peter is on the bed, a slight shape beneath a heavy cover of blankets. “Peter?” 

The wolf doesn’t move. Chris debates seeing if he’s asleep for sure or risking waking him. If Peter was sleeping the best thing to do would be to leave and come back; hopefully before he woke. It’s a hard decision but ultimately he slips from the house and heads into town. 

Andrew was meeting him at the local diner: the man was already sitting inside when Chris parked in front of the windows. 

“Argent, now don’t take this the wrong way but you look like hell.” 

“Slept on the floor.”

“That rough, huh?” 

They order their meals and then get to work. Chris lays out what he knows neatly. 

“I’d say he was held for roughly a year, pre-captivity I would estimate weight at 170; now I can be certain but closer to 120 is where I’d put my money for his current weight. He hasn’t been able to keep anything more than light crackers and water in his stomach and even then there’s a risk of losing it. “

“Any allergies?”

“None that I’m aware.”

“I take it he isn’t sleeping either?”

“It’s back and forth. If he sleeps it’s either like the dead or, starting last night, with nightmares. But either way it’s just a few hours.” Andrew types quickly but Chris still slows his speaking. “He’s hardly able to walk on his own and even someone coming up on the porch is enough to send him spiralling.”

“So current contact?”

“It’s just me.” 

“Chris…”

“He’s a wolf, Andrew. I can’t put him in the hospital and I can’t take him anywhere until he’s stable.”

“How long has he been out?”   
“A week or so.” 

“Jesus.” The waitress stops by to refill their drinks and then they’re alone with the silence once more.

“Okay, I’m taking your word for this- let’s make a plan.”

The plan is loose, little more than a list of things to try and what to avoid, time frames and quantities. The second thing Chris receives before they part ways is a list of symptoms to look for. With Peter being a wolf it complicated things, certain symptoms could be missing and others exacerbated to grand proportions. 

“Argent!” Andrew comes jogging from the diner just as he closes the truck door. “Listen, I need to ask- for my own curiosity- why are you involved in this?”   
“I don’t know the answer to that.” 

Chris should know better than to think things will go well. He steps through the front door and  _ knows  _ he has made a mistake. Peter’s door is closed. Chris opens it as cautiously as he could. Prepared for the worst. 

He turns on the light, the blinds had been drawn at some point since the morning and his eyes couldn’t adjust fast enough to the dark. Immediately there’s a whimper and he hates to think of that sound as a comfort but it  _ is.  _ Peter was clutching his hair, scratches marred the paint of the wall and Chris’ heart  _ clenches _ . 

“Peter.” What else was he to say?

The wolf launches at him and he hardly had time to brace before his back hits the floor. His arm is at the wrong angle to reach his gun but he twists enough to get the knife in the sleeve. 

_ Forgive me.  _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Holidays Babes


	6. Chapter 6

The blade sinks into the meat of Peter’s side and with a shove Chris ends up on top with his right hand holding the wolf down. Peter’s growl has turned into a yelp as their positions reversed. 

Peter is pinned to the floor, blade at his throat. His head comes up, fangs barred but when Chris shouts his name, voice on the edge of desperate anger he slams his skull into the floor and bares his neck with a whimper. 

“ _ You left.”  _ The words are slurred by fangs and Chris feels his gut twist as the picture becomes clearer. With Peter’s submission Chris tosses the knife to the side. His right hand cradles the wolf’s head, forces his eyes to open and focus on the hunter. Chris speaks deliberately and calmly;

“I’m sorry.” There’s blood soaking into his pants leg where he has straddled Peter’s waist but the wolf whines when he tries to move. 

“I’m not leaving you, but this floor isn’t comfortable and I need to stitch your wounds. I’m not leaving. I’m here, I’ve got you.” Still Peter persisted. His temper flares. 

“Peter!” The whine picks up, “Be quiet!” There’s immediate silence. 

“You have to let me up, Peter.” This time when he moves, rocking back onto his heels before rising to his height Peter lets him. Chris extends his hand down and waits, lets the wolf place his palm in Chris’ warmer one and pull him to his feet. Chris steadies him, clasps his hand over the wound he had left in Peter’s side. Peter sways but it’s controlled; it’s straight into Chris’s chest. The next word is a bare puff of air but it is unmistakable. 

“Alpha.”

“No- I’m not. Peter I’m not your alpha. I can’t be.”

“ _ Alpha.”  _ It’s the clearest he’s spoken, almost aggressive in its sincerity. 

Chris says nothing. He has nothing to say. Denial wasn’t going to work, not with Peter so convinced of his assessment. Plus, Chris doesn’t need to upset him further. Clearly he’d done enough. Silently he guides Peter with shuffling steps toward the bathroom. “Sit, lean back.” Peter sits atop the toilet lid and frowns at the cold porcelain against his back. 

“I’m going to stitch this and then we can have dinner.” He doesn’t know if he’ll ever get used to the sight of the wolf’s body. Of the scars and bruises and myriad of ways he showed the horrors of That Place. Maybe it’s hypocritical; no. It  _ is  _ hypocritical with how he wears his own history on his skin. But on Peter… it takes him back to ten years prior, standing in the doorway to a too white room with too quiet a resident. To scars and monitors beeping away and a nurse who looked at him with so much pity he wanted to vomit. To Peter the first time since the end- well, an end. The end of a friendship that barely had begun. It takes him back to a time he felt powerless ; to when Peter was as well. It’s no wonder it makes him want to raze the earth, just because he can. 

“Can you clean yourself up? I need to get the groceries out of the car.” 

“Leaving?” He croaks out, eyes barely able to meet Chris’ own.

“No, just going outside.” He even leaves the door open, making sure the wolf can hear that he was only grabbing the bags. When he gets back in and starts to put everything away Peter follows him like a shadow. 

He fights the instinct to snap at him to sit down. He was supposed to be  _ helping  _ the wolf. 

“Toast okay?” None of the drinks would be cold enough to drink until the night and he didn’t want to risk giving it to Peter too early. No need to turn him against the things because he wanted to rush him. 

Another week passed just the same. And another after that. Chris couldn’t keep track. They found a rhythm though. Chris woke early each morning and around nine or ten he would knock on Peter’s door. The wolf would shuffle out into the kitchen and they would have a quiet breakfast. Peter would drink a shake, usually only half otherwise he would be in the bathroom before eleven rolled around losing the little but he’d had, but it was progress. After Peter would go back to his room and Chris would read. Read and work and worry. Two weeks in the house had him antsy but after the last outing he didn’t dare. At two he would try to coax Peter into eating a bite of toast or crackers and whether he succeeded or failed determined what came next. Success would see them both on the couch with something quiet on the television. Failure would be another two hours of silence. 

Later Chris would check on the wolf’s wounds. The progress was slow. Slow for a human, nonexistent for a wolf. Some nights where better than others, some nights Peter would engage while he checked him over, it wasn’t much but it was something. Some nights he would go somewhere, somewhere too far for Chris to follow him. It was like standing in a high school health class, if not for the ride and fall of his chest he might as well have been made of plastic. It made him sick to think about the why. Even the most seasoned hunters would react to alcohol on wounds or the pierce of a needle for the first time. 

Sometimes on those nights he’d run a shallow bath, careful not to submerge the straight lines of stitches on the wolf’s back, and let Peter come back to himself. Other times he’d simply bundle him back to bed. 

The nightmares persisted but Peter wouldn’t allow him close in their wake. So Chris bought a nightlight - well. Jordan bought a nightlight and Chris plugged it into the wall without a word. It didn’t make them stop but it made the whimpers quieter in the aftermath and the time Chris spent sleeping in the armchair outside the door lesser. 

Peter hasn’t called him alpha again since that first time. Hasn’t said much of anything really. Chris tried not to feel grateful. He really does.

“Argent speaking.” 

“Chris, it’s John. Listen, I’m going to need you to talk to Stiles. Him and the kids are in over their head but none of them want to admit it. Can’t get a word out of any of them.”

“What makes you think I can help?”

“You aren’t their father.” The man had a good point.

“I’ll call Scott.”

Chris sits outside to make the call. Leaves the door cracked and takes up a spot on the steps despite his knee’s protesting click. 

“Hello?”

“Scott, it’s Chris.” 

“Oh thank god, so listen- there’s a lot going on but mostly there’s chimeras and Peter has escaped Eichen House.” His blood runs cold, waiting for the teen to continue. “I can get Stiles to come over and brief you on everything if you’re free? Do you know anything about supernatural hybrids?”

“No, not today. Tell him that I’ll meet him at the Diner tomorrow at six. There may be some information in the Bestiary but I’ll have to go through it before I meet him.” 

“Okay, awesome. Be careful, we don’t know how long Peter’s been out, he may be looking to get revenge and none of us are exactly in the clear when it comes to him.” 

“Yeah. Okay, Scott.” 

He grabs the hard copy of his Bestiary and goes to Peter’s room where the wolf is sleeping- on the bed this time as the day is still young; It’s the nights that get hard. The bed dips under his weight and the wolf stirs, blue eyes half open. “Shh, go back to sleep.” Hesitantly he reaches out, cards his fingers through the long hair. It wouldn’t hurt to cut it but that wasn’t Chris’ call to make. For while he just sits but time wins out and he begins to read. 

One day the monsters would give him a break.  _ Yeah, right.  _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> May 2020 be the year we all deserve


	7. Chapter 7

* * *

There was something different about Stiles. Something that said he was comfortable in his skin. Confident. Chris takes the seat across from him not exactly wary of the conversation they were going into but cautious. There were a lot of ways this could go. He doesn’t expect Stiles to lead with-

“So why did you kidnap Peter?”

He’s glad his drink hasn’t arrived because surely he would have spit it across the table. 

“I didn’t.”

“Eichen isn’t a place someone ‘gets out of’ and the log says he was checked out for ‘medical examination’. So that combined with the fact that Jordan has been making runs, your reaction just now, and the footage from the Ada Street light with him in the back of your car means your helped him out. Or you killed him. Which one is it and why?”

“I saved him.”

“Why?” It’s not accusative and that more than anything makes him honest. 

“No one deserves that fate. Not even Peter. When I heard where he was, where _ Scott _ and the rest of you decided to put him I knew I wasn’t going to be able to leave him there.”

“And what about now?”

“He’s no danger to anyone except maybe himself. Think about it Stiles, think about what you saw in the above ground portion of Eichen House. Did you really think it wouldn’t break him? Or did you think he deserved that sort of torture? Even after everything else you know.” There's a twisted satisfaction he takes from the horror Stiles tries not to show. “Of everyone I thought you would understand that place is worse than hell.”

“I- I was out voted. And after it didn’t seem… we didn’t know what else to do.”

“Enough then. You’re going to tell the others that Peter won’t be a problem. Tell them we traced a paper trail to Germany. I don’t care but you’ll tell them something. Now let me see what you have on the chimeras.”

There’s been a lot happening while Chris has been away. Stiles fills him in with a lot of exposition and some story telling skills that would have made him a lot of money when radio shows were at their height but what stands out to Chris is how many chimera _ bodies _ had been found. 

“What If they’re incomplete. They aren’t targets, they’re experiments.”

“Like a middle schooler’s murderous science project.” 

Chris doesn’t like being unsettled but that’s exactly what the thought makes him feel. “Tell everyone that no one is to travel alone for the time being until we at least know who or what is doing this.” 

Stiles leaves with another promise that he wouldn’t breathe a word about where Peter was. 

This time when he comes back there’s nothing off and he finds Peter having taken one of the drinks in his absence. 

When he reaches his office he has a shadow. “Do you want to sit on the couch while I work?” He turns on some music and watches Peter settle down on the leather sofa. After about an hour Peter disappears and Chris thinks nothing of it until the wolf is back with two bottles of water. He sets one on the desk at Chris’ elbow and waits. 

“Thank you, Peter.” 

He sits back down and it takes Chris a moment to process but he does hear it.

“You’re welcome.” 

Peter starts saying more after that. Small “thank you”s and “yes”s and “no”s. Occasionally it’ll be Chris’ name and Chris  _ knows  _ he smiles too much at those but  _ dammit  _ it’s progress and it makes him feel better about everything. Even if he still often calls Chris alpha. Nothing he says in response can stop that it seems. 

“Chris?” It’s after two in the morning and the entire house is dark. The full moon had passed a week ago with nothing out of place. Peter was getting stronger and he had ended up pacing his way through the house for hours on end with claw tipped fingers and a constant rumble in his chest but not much else. The waning moon let’s Chris see that now his hands are twisting the hem of his shirt as he shifts in the doorway. 

“What’s wrong?” 

“Can- can I sleep here?” It’s hardly a whisper and Chris  _ should  _ say no. Walk the wolf back down the hall and sit up in a chair until he dozed back off. Chris  _ should  _ do a lot of things. Instead he raises the sheets and says, “Yeah.” 

Peter fits up under his arm, head on his collarbone like he belongs there. It’s almost instinct to drag his thumb in soothing sweeps over the bare skin of the wolf’s shoulder. Peter falls asleep first but Chris isn’t far behind. 

It becomes a sort of routine. After three more midnight wake ups he finds that Peter just… starts off in his bed some nights. 

That’s where they are when Stiles shows up. Frantic and blood soaked the boy is shaking the windows with how hard he slams his fist against the door. Peter sinks further beneath the sheets while Chris takes his gun and heads toward the front. Stiles stumbles through the door when it opens. 

“What happened?” 

“I- Donovan. He’s a chimera- was- I. I think I killed him. No. I know I did. Fuck, I’m”

“Sit down.” He shuts the door and puts stiles a glass of water. 

Stiles walks him through it step by step. The threats the boy have to his father, the wrench, the library, how Donovan was spared by the scaffolding that Stiles tried to climb, and how the body disappeared. He sits quietly when Chris gets the first aid kit. When he returns it’s to find the teen in a staring match with the wolf. His presence seems to break the spell and he watches Peter’s lip twitch into a silent snarl. 

Stiles, to his credit, speaks first. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry I didn’t stop them but I’m not here to hurt you. I’ve had a really bad night and if I can sleep on the couch without you murdering me I would be appreciative.” Peter, in an animalistic move, tilts his head and seems to process what he’s been told. He looks to Chris, tales a deep breath, then moves around the room to stand in the far corner while Chris tends to the bite on Stiles’ shoulder. 

When it’s all over and Stiles’ eyes are dropping but he’s still insisting that he’s fine and awake Peter moves. He passed close enough to touch Chris, drawing knuckles across the breadth of his shoulders before disappearing back to Chris’s room. With Stiles settled down Chris follows. 

“Are you alright?” 

“Yes.” 

“Okay.” 

If Peter insists on sleeping away from the door for once they don’t mention it. Luckily Stiles doesn’t mention it either. Chris doesn’t doubt he noticed where they both retired to. Stiles leaves out around ten and Chris knows that the waiting is over. Something would happen and it would happen soon. 

Until then he’d enjoy the fact that Peter was smiling at something on the tv. And _ that _ was a good thing. 


	8. Chapter 8

When he hears _ who _ is back in Beacon Hills to help them with their chimera and evil beings who created them problem, Chris thinks he might finally lose it. Peter is sitting beside him, feet in the hunter’s lap when Stiles delivers the news. That Scott would enlist  _ Deucalion’s  _ help was insane. That Deucalion was walking free and Peter was here, still wrapped in blankets because he was  _ always  _ cold and still tense when cars pulled up outside was _ insane _ . More than that it was _ infuriating.  _

“You’re upset.” Peter sits and moves so he’s leaning closer, half poised to climb onto Chris and soothe whatever he smelled. Chris runs a hand down his own face. 

“I’m fine. Just something someone did that I don't think is right.” 

“Hm?” 

“It’s nothing to worry about right now.” The wolf settles with his head in Chris’s lap and life continues. 

Someone is pounding on the door. It’s seven in the morning and someone is trying to break the thing down. He gets his gun and goes to answer. 

Peeking out the blinds reveals Derek Hale standing on the porch. Chris feels something heavy in his gut. He opens it anyway. 

“Is he here?”

“He is. What do you want Derek?”

“To see him.”

“Why?” 

“He’s my- look. I just need to see him.” Whatever Chris is going to say is taken from him by a presence at his back. Peter, deft and silent as a shadow had come behind him. Derek also seems at a loss for words.

“Let him in.” Peter whispers, eyes downcast but no less sure. Chris hesitantly breaks the mountain ash line and lets the wolf through the door. It’s walkers, Derek is standing by the television stand, Peter shuffling his feet by the couch like he’s not sure if he should sit, instructs telling him not to. And Chris is in the kitchen entryway. Silent observer to a silent conversation. 

“Can we have privacy?” Derek hedges. 

“No. He stays.” It’s the strongest Chris has heard his voice in months. 

“Okay. I- I’m sorry that I left you. But you- there wasn’t anything else I could do. Not after everything you did. You understand that, right?”

“No.”

“You killed Laura. You tried to kill Scott so many times. You  _ stabbed _ Chris.” It takes a significant amount of control not to touch the scar on his stomach at the reminder. “I couldn’t come back. For you or me.”

Chris thinks that’s it. Peter is staring at the carpet, Derek is staring at Peter. “Say something.”

“I’m sorry.” Fine tremors run through his shoulders. “I’m sorry I hurt you. I’m sorry I couldn’t protect them.” 

_ He’s going to have a breakdown _ . 

“Derek, I think you should leave.” There’s a token protest. Horror in his eyes. “Write your number on the pad by the door and I’ll call you. Lock the door behind you please.” He doesn’t wait for the wolf to follow instructions, just approaches Peter with palms outstretched. 

“Come here.” He makes it a command and soon enough the wolf is collapsing against him. Still spitting out apologies like he might have prevented _ anything _ he was apologizing for. Chris rubs his back as soothingly as possible. “Breathe in, hold out, and out. There you are. The fire wasn’t your fault. You couldn’t have stopped it, it’s not your fault.” It takes half an hour for the trembling to stop and for Peter to stand on his own two feet. 

He’s true to his word and he does message Derek afterwards. He tells him that he would let Peter know he could call whenever and would leave it up to  _ Peter _ to make that step. That was all he could do. 

Thankfully the incident didn’t wipe the progress he had made and by that evening Peter was reading a copy of American Gods that Stiles had sent over. 

“Chris?” 

“Hm?” 

“Why did you… why am I here?” 

“Because you didn’t belong in _ there. _ ”

“Why you?”

_ Because there was no one else.  _

“Because I like to think that I’m not a monster.” 

Maybe he should be surprised that the Dread Doctors came from Eichen. Well. That wasn’t quite true. But it was close enough, the information came from there. Stiles’ had kept them well informed over the past weeks. But when he said the name of their source it sent Peter hurrying to be anywhere else. 

Peter called Derek twice in the next two weeks. Things seemed good after both so Chris didn’t inquire further. It was good for Peter to talk. He needed more in his life than simply Chris. 

They’re laying in bed with the lamp on when he feels Peter’s fingers stroking over his stomach. They linger , skirting the edges of a certain spot and the next time they make a pass Chris sets his own hand over the wolf’s. 

“I did that.”

“You did.” 

The memory was one that still hurt at times. He knew if Peter had wanted him dead he would have been, instead he’d been  _ careful  _ with it. The pain had been burning, but it had been the wolf’s voice that haunted him when he thought back.  _ You’ve had a hard time for a long time. Rest now.  _ He didn’t think he would ever understand it. Laying here now he’s not inclined to ask. 

“Why?”

“I don’t know.”

“I’m sorry. I- it feels like a lifetime ago. But I am sorry. I could have done it differently.”

“Done what?” 

“Kept you out of it.”

Chris removes his hand. “There’s no point thinking about it now.”

-

Peter is cooking. He’s humming under his breath and using one hand to stir something that smells sweet, the hint of cloves and brown sugar filling the house. It had been a surprise to learn that the wolf loved the kitchen but when he had asked about it, his friend had told him it made sense for a trauma patient to find comfort in both the ritual and the control over something that felt  _ normal.  _ The results were fantastic either way. Peter had become much more Peter-like. He snarked at Stiles when the boy dropped by and would make comments on the shows he and Chris watched. He wasn’t the old Peter, that Peter was gone but he was becoming a version Chris could see as a man again. Someone who requested a bit of wine and who asked for books by preference. They even went for a walk. 

There were no more major setbacks and Chris had the sudden realization that soon the little routine they had fallen into would be over. It was while Peter was sleeping, breath puffing against the thin skin of his neck that the realization came over him. It made him pull the man even closer and press his nose against his soft hair. 

Things were going to end. 

Chris didn’t want to let them. 


	9. Chapter 9

Peter comes with him when the call comes through. When Stiles calls, eerily calm for the urgency that four missed calls gave the situation, Peter insists on coming along. Chris doesn’t have the mind to say no. He didn’t expect a fight but Peter had insisted that even should a fight come that he would be quite alright. He promised to stay in the car. 

There was no body, no blood, nothing to suggest everything Stiles insisted had happened. Only the word of a shaken teen against an empty library. Chris believed him. He did. It just wasn’t easy to. He knows that he isn’t the only one surprised when Peter gives Stiles a hug. It’s quick, hardly there, but it’s unmistakable that it had been on purpose. Had been meant to comfort. He thinks it was appreciated. 

*

Rage is a funny thing. It made the most careful of people tell the biggest of secrets. Stiles was no different. Chris couldn’t even be angry at the poor boy. It had only been a matter of time after all. A person was a hard secret to hide. At least he had called ahead after he let it slip.   
  


“Chris! Argent! Come on!” 

Scott doesn’t have the decency to look even a modicum apologetic when the hunter opens the door. 

  
“Is it true? Is Peter here?”

“Yes.” 

“Wha- what do you mean? How long? Why? He’s dangerous!”

“Scott, think hard when I say this. Peter is no more dangerous than the person he is faced against. He’s been here months and I’ve had no issue with him.”

“He belongs in Eichen House!” 

“No one belongs in Eichen House.” 

“Chris!” Scott’s not looking at him anymore, the doorway darkens and Chris knows that Peter’s come up behind him. 

“McCall.” his voice is quiet, shoulders held back as though he wasn’t the least bit concerned with who stood across from him. “I think you’ll see everything is fine and I’m not interested in posing any threat to you or yours.”

“You tried to kill me!” 

“I did, I’m not going to apologize for that. Either time. But I am not going to do so again.” 

“You can’t be here. You- you need to leave.” 

“No, McCall, you may be an alpha but you are not mine. Beacon Hills is my  _ home.  _ If you want to run me out, if you want to  _ try  _ to put me back in Eichen House be my guest but you will be going through my alpha, and you’ll have Stiles and Derek to contend with as well. So  _ please,  _ test your luck  _ True _ Alpha.”

“There are no other alphas in Beacon Hills.” 

“ _ Chris _ is my alpha.”

Before Scott could speak again Chris interjects. 

“He’s right. I’m human but Peter’s wolf recognizes me as his alpha. I’ll take responsibility for his actions but he’s also correct that if you want to get rid of him- in  _ any  _ context- you’ll have to go through me. Now I think it’s time for you to leave, Scott.” 

Life moves on. 

Three days later Peter finds Chris sitting in the kitchen with a mug of coffee in his hands. 

“You’re thinking hard, alpha mine.” 

“Maybe.”

“What about?”

“You’ll want to leave soon and I don’t think I want whatever this is between us to end.” He  _ knows  _ it’s selfish of him. He knows he should have kept his mouth shut and let the wolf walk away and simply kept what he could. He dares a glance at the wolf in question. 

He finds himself being watched in turn. “Why do you say that?”

“You were only staying until you were better. I get it.” 

“You’re an idiot.” Chris doesn’t have words. “I would like to stay if you’d let me.” 

“What?”

“Christopher. I’m a wolf, I’m used to living in quarters with others and beyond that I don’t feel like denying myself the indulgence of good company or another body in the bed.”

“So, this doesn’t need to end?” 

“Nothing ever ends, Christopher. Things change. The world is an endless sea of happenstances, it’s our job to keep our heads above water. Sometimes we have to ask for help to accomplish it, but that’s what we do.”

Peter steps around so he’s standing behind the hunter, the softest smile Chris has ever seen on his lips. 

‘What do you say, Alpha?” 

The kiss is sweet; it still feels like drowning. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It’s been fun, I hope y’all enjoyed and that that you’re satisfied with the ending here.  
Thanks everyone!


End file.
